Something Wicked This Way Comes
by Ceris Malfoy
Summary: The Decepticons have stirred a sect of humans they shouldn't have, and now are forced to pay the consequences. Their only hope of survival lies in a deal made with the devil, and the boy prophesized to destroy him.
1. Pt1: You Can't Kill Me

**Hi! Well, this is an idea that's been floating around in my head recently. I've become such a rabid Transformers fan that I felt I had no choice but to write _something_. This fic is highly experimental, and more than a bit strange. So don't be surprised if it darts into a strange place. **

**Just to be perfectly clear, because I don't want anyone reading this with any misunderstandings, this will be an eventual Megatron/Harry/Starscream. This is also more than a bit AU. I have, to my credit, watched both Bay movies, read All Hail Megatron volumes 1-4, and watched perhaps 3 episodes of G1. However, for this plot to work the way I need it to, certain things had to change. Don't like? Don't read.**

**Disclaimer:**** Niether Transformers or Harry Potter belongs to me. I'm just "borrowing".**

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**Something Wicked This Way Comes**

**_Part 1: You Can't Kill Me_**

**By: Ceris Malfoy**

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It was a matter of desperation at this point.

Megatron, almighty leader of the Decepticons, was at his wits end: unable to do anything as his once great army starved to death before his optics. He was, as Starscream might have once said, a fool.

It had all seemed easy enough, at first. They had crashed on this miserable, insignificant little planet that nevertheless was extremely rich in its resources. He had been quick to start taking those resources, mobilizing the troops trapped on Earth and giving them an objective.

Energy for Cybertron.

They studied the planet carefully, plotted many raids that only occasionally were busted by the Autobots, and amassed a quickly growing stockpile of Energon for their starving planet.

How then, had it come to this?

Oh, he knew, even if he never wanted to admit it.

The answer to their downfall was reflected in the human boy's hellish green eyes; the solution to their misery promised with every breath the boy took.

His prisoner; his salvation.

* * *

_He was going to kill this annoying pest! Megatron roared as the boy continued to laugh mockingly at him, green eyes glinting feverishly. He charged his fusion canon and aimed. "Any last words, you miserable insect?"_

_The boy's laughter stopped, and he smiled. "You can't kill me, you know."_

_He growled at the impudent little insect, rage rising in him. The insect – a human boy of perhaps 16 with the oddest green eyes – merely raised a delicately arched eyebrow, face impassive, eyes steady, and absolutely no fear in the face of the silver, 30ft tall harbinger of death and destruction._

_"Oh, you can make me **hurt**," and there was something about the boys voice as he spoke that unnerved Megatron, made him stop and listen as the boy spoke. "You could make me scream and cry and **beg**…. But you can't kill me." A small smile twitched at the boy's lips. "After all, I'm the deal breaker – without me alive and well, you **all** die."_

_The worse part about it was the boy was right, but that didn't mean he'd let the boy think he had power over any of them. He (gently) backhanded the human, watching as the boy flew through the air and slammed into the wall furthest from him. "Watch your mouth, insect. All I have to provide is your body – the condition of it being alive was never specified."_

_The boy grunted and pushed himself up. Despite the obvious pain he was in, his face remained perfectly impassive. His eyes though… those burned. "We both know that's not true, Lord Megatron. Voldemort will not accept anything less than my death at his hands." There was a strange look in those burning eyes, a brief moment of pleading for mercy that was swiftly smothered by that passive resignation and burning hate._

_"Besides," the boy continued, his voice gaining a certain sly tone Megatron would have to be deaf not to recognize – it was a tone Starscream often used when he was digging at Megatron's pride and self-respect. "What would your troops think?" The boy leaned forward and a lopsided grin crossed his face. "More importantly, what would Starscream think? You, the almighty Slag Maker, so weak and infantile that he couldn't even swallow his pride long enough to complete the deal that would once again bring glory to the Decepticon cause."_

_The worse part about every word the boy spoke was that it was all true. Right now this mere human boy was the only chance he had of gaining the energon needed to feed his troops and restore Cybertron back to its former glory._

_And even worse was the boy's perceptiveness. Kept as he was in an enclosed cage in the Command center of the Nemisis (so that there would always be an optic or two on him), the boy got to watch Decepticon interaction. The boy managed to pick up on some things in regards to the dynamics of the commanding officers that made Megatron very nervous indeed._

_Like his dependence on Starscream, especially now in these trying times._

_Starscream was literally the only mech holding this army together. He was a notorious coward, a survivalist to the core, not to mention a traitor! The Decepticons looked at Starscream, who for once was not whining, plotting, backstabbing, or running away, and reasoned that if **he** could deal with it, then so could they._

_What the rest of the army didn't realize, and what Megatron had thought only he had known (until the boy had revealed that **he knew**), was that Starscream was not a coward. He was a strong and capable warrior, but more than that, he was exceptionally intelligent and cunning. He played coward only long enough to live after commiting acts of treason that would leave any other deactivated instantly._

_And for once his seeker, **his** Starscream, was actually working at his side, shouldering additional duties and keeping Megatron's army from collapsing from the inside out. If he, the leader of the Decepticons, Starscream's **Lord**, killed this boy and voided the deal that would save them…._

_Megatron was not blind, and he knew that Starscream would not hesitate to kill him, with the backing of the entire Decepticon army. They were **a****ll** starving._

_He growled at the boy again, and the boy merely shook his head and curled up, back to the wall and stared at him, eyes still burning._

_Megatron could not stand that look; could not stand to hear what levels he was forced to stoop to in order to save his dying army; could not stand to watch as the world he knew burned to ashes in green eyes. He left, feeling vaguely like he had both lost and won a battle he hadn't even known he was participating in._

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He had dismissed the organics on this planet as useless, powerless, and naïve. How …_educational_ it had been when he had ordered a raid on a powersource in the UK only to loose complete contact with the small force he had sent there, including two of his Command Trine.

He still flinched every time he saw Starscream – the traitorous glitch of a SIC and Air Commander had not been the same since his brothers' deaths. The seeker had become sullen and withdrawn, and very, very dangerous. There was something like a storm brewing in those crimson optics, wild and free and promising nothing but death and yet more death.

Luckily those optics had yet to be turned his way – there was a reason he kept Starscream alive, and it wasn't because he had the prettiest aft he had ever seen on a mech. Megatron would never admit it to anyone, especially not to Starscream, but he _needed_ Starscream, especially now.

There was a small subgroup of human lifeforms on this planet that could utilize a innate source of energy to not only _bend_ the laws of the universe, but actually outright _break_ them. These humans could transport themselves instantly away from danger with little to know warning, could kill with two words and a flash of green light, and could turn stones into chickens.

_Or turn Cybertonians into dust._

And thus started the end of the Decepticon's success. This subgroup _was_ the powersource he had discovered, and this subgroup was Not Happy. They hunted cybertronians down, Autobot and Decepticon alike. The remainder of both factions hid, utilizing their alt modes to the fullest extent.

Unable to risk drawing attention to themselves, the Decepticons were forced into a waiting game they were quickly loosing. Their energon was dwindling day by day, the rationed portions growing smaller and smaller until every mech in his army was only consuming enough to avoid stasis lock.

And then one day, one of the beings tracked Megatron down and offered him a deal – find, contain, and hand over one particular human boy, and he would provide the energy his kind needed. Megatron didn't think twice before accepting.

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**I hope everyone likes this!**


	2. Pt2: I've Always Dreamt of it

**This part wasn't planned at all, which is why the tone is completely different. Starscream was supposed to be featured next, but Harry had to have his say.... The dialogue is almost completely one-sided in this, merely Harry telling a mini-story, but not the one anyone _needs_ to hear. Lol. I suppose that this chapter could be considered an interlude, but it's not really that either. So, I guess I'll just point to qhat I wrote in the first chapter and hope everyone likes this. **

**I'm fretting pretty hard over the way I'm going to be portraying Starscream in this fic. Despite everything, he's my favorite character, and the whole reason I got into the TF fandom to begin with. Megatron I'm not so worried about - I've been reading TF fanfiction for awhile and have realized that almost no one portrays Megatron in the same manner. Hell, even the various canon versions of him are more than a bit diverse. I've eventually settled on AU G1 plot with IDW-verse characterizations, as the IDW-verse is the one I'm most familiar with. As for Harry... well, us writers have been abusing him for years. XD**

**Again, it's going to be a strange ride. I just hope you all are willing to see where the trip goes. ^^**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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**Something Wicked This Way Comes**

**_Part 2: I've Always Dreamt of it..._**

**By: Ceris Malfoy**

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It was a simple matter of survival at this point.

To Harry James Potter, his situation – caged and watched by giant alien robots – was just one more fucked up scenario in a long line of fucked up scenarios. Only this one really took the top spot on the list. _Aliens_. Fuck.

Things had started out normally – or as normal as it got in a world where portraits talked, keys had wings, and humans could successfully mate with horses. You know, get attacked by dementors in a _muggle_ neighborhood, save your cousin, get dragged to a criminal hearing for said defense, go to school and learn that the ministry is doing everything in it's feeble power to cover up the return of a Dark Lord so evil and vile he made Satan look like a kicked puppy, and deal with the latest psychotically deranged Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Normality really never had been his thing.

And then, late one night in the middle of November, his rather warped definition of 'normal' got tossed rather carelessly out the window by _giant alien robots_.

He still wasn't over the sight of ten of the beings casually blasting a 20ft hole in the ceiling of the Great Hall of Hogwarts and entering. He was only slightly thankful that the Defense Association that Hermione had roped him into teaching was just as trigger-happy (or would that be wand-happy?) as he was these days. Imagine it – almost 30 15 year olds immediately pulling out their wands and casting the most powerful, wide-area damage-inducing spell they knew (reductor curses were wonderful things) in one rapid-fire volley after another.

They were shortly joined by nearly the entirety of Gryffindor House, followed quickly by their eternal rivals the Slytherins, which incidentally drew in both the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs. It came to no surprise to Harry that the teachers were the _last_ to join in, even if they did the most damage. No, what did surprise Harry was when _Hogwarts_ itself joined in.

The rippling magic that radiated off the very stones was so intense it was nearly blinding, but Harry hadn't been able to tear his eyes away.

It was then that he noticed something he probably should have noticed earlier. _The robots weren't retaliating_. Their faces had the look of someone who wanted _very badly_ to inflict major bodily harm, and their crimson eyes were burning with rage and the promise of a very painful, drawn-out death that probably would have a lot of screaming involved, but they _didn't move_.

Harry had stopped casting spells; had become mesmerized by the site of those ten magnificently awe- and fear-inspiring beings. He felt something weird; some strange, uncomfortable yearning, and could not tear his eyes off of them. Thus, he was also the only one to see the small, electrical sparks that were popping all over their bodies.

The magic Hogwarts was practically bleeding slammed into the robots, and then there was a moment of perfect silence as _everyone_ stopped their casting and stared at the sight of these monstrous creations imploding from the inside out. It was marvelous. It was brilliant. It was loud.

It was the saddest sight he had ever seen.

He remembered staring at the dust that littered the floor, and thinking that it was such a waste.

He didn't remember much after that. Most of it was a blur – a murky void of angry voices and panicked yells. He knew (in a vague, sub-conscious sort-of way) that the Wizarding World had been _furious _that the institution where their children were at had been attacked. He also knew (in a totally real, oh-my-god-there's-someone-in-my-head-get-him-out! sort-of way) that Voldemort was very, very happy about these events.

The Wizarding World tore the muggle one apart (discreetly, of course) looking for anything that matched the description given by many a hysterical teenager. It took groups of 50 at first to even make one stop trying to retaliate, so the hunting groups just got larger. Anyone over the age of 13 got drafted into the hunting raids. Eventually there were 12 hunting parties of over 250 witches and wizards running all over the world, doing their absolute best to destroy the "threat".

Harry used this time to explore the world, broaden his horizons, and enjoy the simple pleasures in life. He never partook in the actual hunts, but in the midst of all that chaos, no one really noticed.

Voldemort used this time to gather allies and perform horrific rites that left mental scars deep in Harry's mind when he saw them later in his dreams. Voldemort also used this time to casually walk into a secret department of the Ministry and break open a small glowing sphere and listen attentively to the contents. The words whispered in Harry's mind for weeks, over and over and over and over.

Once the hunts were off, and things had calmed down some, Harry hightailed it out of there. He knew what was coming, and he wanted no part in it. He knew in intimate detail what Voldemort was capable of, what _he himself_ was now capable of, thanks to whatever the hell it was that linked the two of them. And he knew without a doubt that there was nothing he could do to prevent or stop the man.

So, as far as he was concerned, the world could burn.

He ran. Thankfully, though Harry always had some sort of sixth sense concerning Voldemort and his Death Eaters and when one might be onto his trail, Voldemort never seemed to be able to find him. A few Death Eaters came awfully close a couple of times, but over the course of 6 months, Harry had learned how to be very quick and very, very lethal. Any who found him didn't last long enough to spill the beans on his location.

By the time he turned 16, he had a forty-name-long list of dead people, a deranged psychopath in his head, and an almost constant urge to fly.

It was probably why he got caught.

* * *

"_You are probably one of the most complex and interesting fleshbags I've ever had the misfortune of being around."_

_Harry merely looked at the winged Decepticon. This one was an interesting study itself – the SIC of the Decepticon army was …like him, in ways that made Harry's head spin and his stomach clench in uncomfortable recognition._

"_You need to fly." It was said simply, a mere statement of fact. Those ever-burning, wild eyes watched him carefully, studying every movement Harry made._

_Harry hated it, but the flyer was right. He __**needed**__ to fly. He didn't know when the need began to grow, but he knew it had been shortly after his first Quidditch game. The feeling of freedom, the pressing need to become one with the sky…it soothed some aching hole in him that he had never knew existed. To be stuck here in this cage, unable to do anything but pace and play the occasional mind game with their leader, Megatron, was nothing short of maddening. _

_He nodded in acknowledgement, but still said nothing. What could he say? Unlike Megatron, who, as Harry had learned through careful observation, was often a slave to his emotions and his need for conquest, Starscream was dangerous. Starscream was unpredictable, and very, very intelligent._

_That one would spot a mind game in a second, and was more than capable of turning the tables on him._

"_I've never seen a human suffer from sky-hunger before." _

_Harry snarled, and finally spoke. "And just how many of my kind have you taken the time to watch?"_

_The mech's eyes burned, and a small, victorious smile twitched at his lips. "Admittedly not many, but I would think that for a being born without wings…" The mech let his voice trail off suggestively, and Harry scowled._

"_Then you should study us a bit more. The human race has a long and gloriously messy affair with the desire to fly. It's just that those of us capable of magic have learned to do it without the aid of being entrapped in a metal box." He turned his head away from the robot, feeling vaguely empty._

"_Tell me."_

_Harry looked back at the winged robot, and sighed. "I've always dreamed of it," he started slowly, unsure if this was going to be used against him, but knowing as he did what his eventual fate was – death at Voldemort's hands – he found he really couldn't care._

"_I only catch glimpses of the memory in my dreams, but when I was a toddler, a friend of my mentor's flew me across the country on an enchanted motorcycle. I remember the purring noise of the engine, the comforting warmth of the giant holding me, the cold wind whipping across my face and through my hair. More than that, I remember the feeling of being safe, knowing that I wouldn't be hurt, not there._

"_I was raised by non-magicals, ordinary human beings that had a …__**distaste**__ for anything that didn't fit in their definition of oridinary, which unfortunately for me, was __**everything**__ I did or said. The punishments were always exceptionally harsh when I mentioned the dreams of flying, and I eventually learned not to mention them at all._

"_I had no idea what I was, what I was capable of doing until I turned eleven. In my first year at Hogwarts, I participated in my first ever flying lesson. We use brooms to fly, as no one's figured out yet how to fly without them. The lesson was supposed to familiarize us with the proper flight techniques such as grip, pressure, and posture while riding one." Harry allowed his eyes to close and relaxed, remembering fondly that particular lesson. "Unlike many of my fellow students, I had never flown before, so I was nervous and more than a bit afraid." He chuckled. "I had no reason to be. I was a natural – or so they said later. They said it ran in my blood, that my father was an exceptionally talented flyer, and that I must have inherited his gifts._

"_That one had always confused me – my father had trained nearly since birth to handle broom, whereas all I had to do was get in the air. There was nothing more …true about that moment. It was all instinctive – I didn't have to think about what I was doing, I was just __**doing**__ it. There was an incident with a school rival that led to me becoming the youngest Seeker in a century, and I –"_

"_**What**__ did you just say?!"_

_Harry's eyes snapped open and he stared in disbelief at Starscream, whose eyes were practically __**boiling**__. "I became the youngest Seeker in a century," he repeated slowly, watching cautiously. Starscream's face betrayed nothing, but his wings were vibrating. "It's a position in a sport my kind play," he said, and sighed in relief when Starscream relaxed. "Quidditch is the name of the sport, and it involves 7 players on a team. One is the Keeper – he guards the three goal hoops. Three more are the Chasers – they toss around a ball called the 'Quaffle' and try to score goals by getting said ball through the opposing team's hoops. Two more are the Beaters – they deal with animated flying balls-of-death called 'Bludgers' by using bats and beating them at the opposing team. Bludgers have a mind of their own and are capable of extreme bodily harm if the Beaters are quick enough in their duty. And then there's the final flyer, the Seeker. His only job in the game is to locate a small, winged ball called the snitch and capture it. It is arguably the most difficult position in the team, because the snitch is outstandingly fast and damn hard to track. In addition to that, the Seeker is a giant target to every flyer on the opposing team, and more than one has been nearly killed due to 'un-sportsman-like conduct'." _

_Harry stopped, closed his eyes, swallowed the lump in his throat, and tried to ignore the raging need that gripped him. He could almost hear the roar of the wind as he moved at speeds best left to the imagination, turning and twisting and diving as he willed. He breathed deeply for a moment, and then continued, never opening his eyes._

"_I __**enjoyed**__ it. I __**lived**__ for it. The Quidditch games and practice matches weren't enough – the need to be in the air progressively grew stronger, but I always managed to keep it under control. It wasn't until after I ran that I had to freedom to fly as I willed, and then suddenly I couldn't control it again. It burns," he whispered, pained._

_Starscream made a noise, but did not speak. After several long moments, Harry opened his eyes, only to find that the winged mech had left._

* * *

Despite the occasional murder (and he never kidded himself, what he did was murder, no matter if it was an issue of life or death), Harry found himself enjoying his freedom. He loved to fly, and fly he did.

He had not known about the deal between Lord Voldemort and the giant alien robots. If he had it probably wouldn't have made a difference. He could no more stop flying than he could allow the Death Eaters capture him.

So when he was plucked right out of the air by one of the giant alien robots, all he could think was 'Fuck.' When he was thrown in his cage, and then told of what his purpose for being there was, all he could do was sigh and figure that it was just his luck.

He watched and observed the robots for weeks on end, and learned exactly just how dire their situation, and by extension his, was. They were starving, their world was _dying_, slowly but surely, and he was their ticket out. He didn't blame them for agreeing to deal with Voldemort. A man …er, _mech_ had to eat after all. And damn that little hero complex that he was discovering was nowhere near as dead as he thought it was.

Because now he had to not only find a way out of this alive, but he had to find a way of doing it without endangering these Decepticons.

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Harry, sometimes I think you need to learn how to be totally selfish for once. *sighs* Ah, well. That can't be helped. You go save those Decepticons. ...Is it just me, or is there something wrong with that statement?

**Anyway, one reader has asked me about this, so I figured I'd go ahead and let everyone else know. I see the cycle set up like this: muggles are vulnerable to cybertronians, cybertronians are vulnerable to wizards, and wizards are vulnerable to muggles.**

**Canonically, muggle technology doesn't work around concentrated forms of magic - such as Hogwarts. Although cybertronians are much more advanced than muggle technology, I think that they would have the same sort of issues around said concentrated forms of magic - jammed programming, wires sparking, explosions, ect. This in no way means the Decepticons are going to take this lying down - they're just weak and kinda freaked right now. Believe me, soon they're going to realize exactly _why_ wizards are vulnerable to muggles, and are going to use it to their advantage. With Harry's help, of course. ^^**


	3. Pt3: I Was Wondering

**So, I finally got around to writing Starscream's portion. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but I'm getting slightly tired of waiting around trying to find inspiration. Damn muses and their random dying. Also, got a new hard-drive, but unfortunately, all the fileson the old one are irretrievable, so I'm shit out of luck on quite a few of my other stories. I will try and find some way to find inspiration for them, though. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.

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**Something Wicked This Way Comes**

_**Part 3: I Was Wondering...**_

**By: Ceris Malfoy

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It was a matter of curiosity and compulsion.

Before he had been the SIC of the Decepticon Armada; before he had been the top student in the War Academy; before he had been a deep-space explorer, he had been a scientist.

A rather good one at that.

Starscream was known to a variety of mechs by many titles, some less pleasant than others, but most never seemed to remember that he had once been the top student in the Iacon Science Academy. Even Skyfire, his once-friend and partner, seemed to forget.

And, to be fair, Starscream had mostly forgotten it as well. For almost 9 million years, he had existed in an almost mindless haze of violence and hatred and pride. He was no _scientist_ – he was a _Seeker_, a warrior by design and programming with an unparalleled efficiency in the skies.

It wasn't until his brothers' deaths that this haze had broken; that he remembered the almost driving need to clarify and quantify the world around him.

The loss of Skywarp and Thundercracker should have broken him, and perhaps it did, in a way. He certainly was no longer the same as he had been. He felt nothing anymore, really. His spark was just an empty hole; the emotional programming that had driven him for so long simply missing.

But…. _But_.

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"_So why'd you suddenly start replacing Megatron as my main keeper?" _

_Starscream looked up, studying the human boy carefully. The boy looked honestly curious, and more than slightly bored – which was highly probable, considering Starscream had replaced the boy's main source of entertainment. "I grew tired of watching my Lord leave the Command Center confused and frustrated," he finally answered._

_The boy sighed. "You know, you are entirely too protective of him for someone who supposedly wants to kill him."_

_Starscream considered this. "That ambition came from a completely different mech. There is no room for dissent at the current point in time."_

_A sly glance. "Meaning once the situation becomes advantageous again, you'll be right back up there trying to kill him?"_

_Starscream smiled a little. "Perhaps. It is unlikely, though." He stood, ready to leave. He fiddled with the settings on the boy's cage, making sure that they were set at maximum. They had demonstrated what happened to organic life-forms that attempted to leave the cage when placed under maximum security. It hadn't been a pretty picture, and the boy had yet to attempt to use his strange powers to bypass it._

_The boy cocked his head slightly and staring intently at Starscream. "I was wondering…" he began softly._

_Starscream leaned back and straightened his wings, enjoying the swift look of jealousy that crossed the boy's face. "What?" he asked when the boy made no move to continue._

_A bitter smile crossed the boy's face. "Why have neither you nor Megatron asked me to produce your energon for you? Why do you both play this waiting game with a self-styled Dark Lord who you both know will double-cross you at the first opportunity when his supposed "equal" lies within your grasp?"_

_Starscream had no answer for that.

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_

There was something inside of him, something deep and dark and so, so _angry_. That something, that deep, dark, hidden part of himself had taken one look at the human-boy with those burning-green eyes, and had attached itself to him. Drawn to the human again and again, Starscream could not help but study and analyze the boy's actions and words.

Starscream was startled to realize that he saw far too much of himself in that boy.

Both of them loved to mess with Megatron's processor (and both found it entirely too easy).

Both of them felt the burning need to be free in the skies; to fly wherever they willed as only they could.

Both of them knew the world around them was going to the pit and had figured that they would have the time of their lives going down with it.

Both of them nevertheless had a sense of duty and honor that drove them to pulling stupid stunts that more often then not backfired spectacularly.

Both of them knew what it was like to have no one to rely on; to have no one piece you back together; to have no one care about whether or not you lived or died.

Both of them lacked physical power and strength by their respective species' standards, but more than made up for it in other ways – speed, intellect, a strange and rather perverse sense of humor, etc.

Both of them had known peace and comfort once, only to have it ripped savagely from their hands and shredded before their hurt gazes.

Both of them had risen above their hardships, had embraced what made them undesirable to others, and had locked gazes with death and _dared_.

But more than that, the both of them were willing to do _anything_ to survive.

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**And that's that. Either Lord Voldemort or Soundwave is next, depending one where I decide to take this. Optimus Prime (and the situation with the Autobots) will make an appearance as an Interlude sometime soon as well.**


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